Baseball is Back--Minus the Curse
I have always been crazy about baseball. From the first day of the regular season to the last out of the World Series, I feel that I am living real life. From the day after the World Series to the last day of spring training—no matter how well the Steelers do, no matter how good the golf is, no matter whether there is hockey or no hockey—I feel as if I am living in some type of twilight half-dream existence that is not quite real. Sunday night, when the television proved to me that my Red Sox and the hated Yankees were engaged in a major league game that counts, I knew baseball was back, and I was really alive! However, I entered this baseball season with an uneasy serenity to which I am unaccustomed. After 37 years—for me, at least—the Curse of the Bambino is gone.
I became a Red Sox fan in 1967. I was in high school, and everyone thought I was nuts. I lived near Pittsburgh, and the Pirates were pretty good. Why would I root for the Red Sox? Who knows, but I went around chanting, "Carl Yaztrzemski, Tony Conigliaro, Rico Petrocelli, and GEORGE SCOTT!" I was heartbroken when the Cardinals beat the Red Sox in the World Series in 1967. The next few years, I bugged my dad into taking us on vacation to Boston, where the whole family got to enjoy our first game at Fenway. I ran away to Boston and Cleveland to see the Red Sox. I talked my parents into letting me go alone to Boston. Finally, I even got into Boston University and lived a block from Fenway! Everyone in college also thought I was nuts!
I feel old when I think of this, but the weekend after I started at BU, I walked over to Fenway and bought a bleacher ticket. I sat down and struck up a conversation with a high school girl from Rhode Island who became one of my best friends. She and her buddy had come up from Rhode Island to see a rookie who had just been called up from Pawtucket—Carlton Fisk. See, I am OLD!
One thing about all of this that was good for me was that I went straight from Forbes Field to Fenway Park. It was 1970, and I didn’t have to endure a new stadium for long, i.e. Three Rivers. In 1971, when the Pirates were in the World Series, a student from Steve Blass’ hometown took pity on me and lent me a TV to watch the Bucs. I was still dirt poor and without a TV in 1975. I was living about a block from Fenway and was asleep when Carlton Fisk hit his historic home run in the 75 World Series. The crowd’s noise woke me up. The next night, I watched the final game at the BU Student Union, knowing if the Red Sox won I would not be able to walk the few blocks home all night long. But the Red Sox lost, and I’ll never forget walking by Fenway Park. It was like a funeral procession watching the disappointed fans filing out of Fenway.
After I moved to California, I often saw the Red Sox at the Oakland Coliseum. They often contended for the World Series, but it almost always ended in disappointment. In 1986, when they lost to the Mets in a very bizarre fashion, I truly believed in the Curse of the Bambino. After I moved back to Pennsylvania, I made several trips to see the Red Sox: to Cleveland, to Philadelphia, to Toronto.
During the playoffs in 2004, I believed so firmly in the curse and I was so nervous, that I often couldn’t watch and had to turn the TV off. I could not believe it when the Red Sox actually came back from a 0-3 deficit to beat the Yanks. Even during the last game of the World Series, as late as the 8th inning, I couldn’t watch. I didn’t believe it until that last out, until the ball was in Mankiewicz’ hand, that the Red Sox had done it. Finally, they were the World Champs! The curse was over.
So, I am thrilled that baseball is back. I feel alive. I can’t wait to go to PNC Park, which is absolutely a fantastic place to watch a game. And yet there is this uneasy feeling. There is no drama, no suffering, no curse. Wouldn’t you know it? Just when the Pope grows old and sick and shows us how to suffer over a long period of time with grace and dignity, the Red Sox win the World Series, and now we don’t have anything to suffer about!
I became a Red Sox fan in 1967. I was in high school, and everyone thought I was nuts. I lived near Pittsburgh, and the Pirates were pretty good. Why would I root for the Red Sox? Who knows, but I went around chanting, "Carl Yaztrzemski, Tony Conigliaro, Rico Petrocelli, and GEORGE SCOTT!" I was heartbroken when the Cardinals beat the Red Sox in the World Series in 1967. The next few years, I bugged my dad into taking us on vacation to Boston, where the whole family got to enjoy our first game at Fenway. I ran away to Boston and Cleveland to see the Red Sox. I talked my parents into letting me go alone to Boston. Finally, I even got into Boston University and lived a block from Fenway! Everyone in college also thought I was nuts!
I feel old when I think of this, but the weekend after I started at BU, I walked over to Fenway and bought a bleacher ticket. I sat down and struck up a conversation with a high school girl from Rhode Island who became one of my best friends. She and her buddy had come up from Rhode Island to see a rookie who had just been called up from Pawtucket—Carlton Fisk. See, I am OLD!
One thing about all of this that was good for me was that I went straight from Forbes Field to Fenway Park. It was 1970, and I didn’t have to endure a new stadium for long, i.e. Three Rivers. In 1971, when the Pirates were in the World Series, a student from Steve Blass’ hometown took pity on me and lent me a TV to watch the Bucs. I was still dirt poor and without a TV in 1975. I was living about a block from Fenway and was asleep when Carlton Fisk hit his historic home run in the 75 World Series. The crowd’s noise woke me up. The next night, I watched the final game at the BU Student Union, knowing if the Red Sox won I would not be able to walk the few blocks home all night long. But the Red Sox lost, and I’ll never forget walking by Fenway Park. It was like a funeral procession watching the disappointed fans filing out of Fenway.
After I moved to California, I often saw the Red Sox at the Oakland Coliseum. They often contended for the World Series, but it almost always ended in disappointment. In 1986, when they lost to the Mets in a very bizarre fashion, I truly believed in the Curse of the Bambino. After I moved back to Pennsylvania, I made several trips to see the Red Sox: to Cleveland, to Philadelphia, to Toronto.
During the playoffs in 2004, I believed so firmly in the curse and I was so nervous, that I often couldn’t watch and had to turn the TV off. I could not believe it when the Red Sox actually came back from a 0-3 deficit to beat the Yanks. Even during the last game of the World Series, as late as the 8th inning, I couldn’t watch. I didn’t believe it until that last out, until the ball was in Mankiewicz’ hand, that the Red Sox had done it. Finally, they were the World Champs! The curse was over.
So, I am thrilled that baseball is back. I feel alive. I can’t wait to go to PNC Park, which is absolutely a fantastic place to watch a game. And yet there is this uneasy feeling. There is no drama, no suffering, no curse. Wouldn’t you know it? Just when the Pope grows old and sick and shows us how to suffer over a long period of time with grace and dignity, the Red Sox win the World Series, and now we don’t have anything to suffer about!
posted by Theodosia @ 5:22 AM
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